How could a dog that would guard one lone helpless lamb all night long take the life of another?

There was no witness that had aught but kind words to say of the dog or aught but wonder that he should have done this thing—­even back to the cattle-dealer who had given him to Chad.  For at that time the dealer said—­so testified Chad, no objection being raised to hearsay evidence—­that Jack was the best dog he ever knew.  That was all the Turners or anybody could do or say, and the old Squire was about to turn the case over to the jury when Chad rose: 

“Squire,” he said and his voice trembled, “Jack’s my dog.  I lived with him night an’ day for ‘bout three years an’ I want to axe some questions.”

He turned to Daws: 

“I want to axe you ef thar was any blood around that sheep.”

“Thar was a great big pool o’ blood,” said Daws, indignantly.  Chad looked at the Squire.

“Well, a sheep-killin’ dog don’t leave no great big pool o’ blood, Squire, with the fust one he kills!  He sucks it!” Several men nodded their heads.

“Squire!  The fust time I come over these mountains, the fust people I seed was these Dillons—­an’ Whizzer.  They sicked Whizzer on Jack hyeh and Jack whooped him.  Then Tad thar jumped me and I whooped him.” (The Turner boys were nodding confirmation.) “Sence that time they’ve hated Jack an’ they’ve hated me and they hate the Turners partly fer takin’ keer o’ me.  Now you said somethin’ I axed just now was irrelevant, but I tell you, Squire, I know a sheep-killin’ dawg, and jes’ as I know Jack ain’t, I know the Dillon dawg naturely is, and I tell you, if the Dillons’ dawg killed that sheep and they could put it on Jack—­they’d do it.  They’d do it—­Squire, an’ I tell you, you—­ortern’t—­to let—­that sheriff—­thar—­shoot my—­dog—­until the Dillons answers what I axed—­” the boy’s passionate cry rang against the green walls and out the opening and across the river—­

“Whar’s whizzer?”

The boy startled the crowd and the old Squire himself, who turned quickly to the Dillons.

“Well, whar is Whizzer?”

Nobody answered.

“He ain’t been seen, Squire, sence the evenin’ afore the night o’ the killin’!” Chad’s statement seemed to be true.  Not a voice contradicted.

“An’ I want to know if Daws seed signs o’ killin’ on Jack’s head when he jumped the fence, why them same signs didn’t show when he got home.”

Poor Chad!  Here old Tad Dillon raised his hand.

“Axe the Turners, Squire,” he said, and as the school-master on the outskirts shrank, as though he meant to leave the crowd, the old man’s quick eye caught the movement and he added: 

“Axe the school-teacher!”

Every eye turned with the Squire’s to the master, whose face was strangely serious straightway.

“Did you see any signs on the dawg when he got home?” The gaunt man hesitated, with one swift glance at the boy, who almost paled in answer.